Defender of Rome (11 page)

XVI

‘ARE YOU CERTAIN
you possess the zeal your Emperor requires of you?’

The summons had come as a surprise and the atmosphere in the room was relentlessly hostile. Torquatus sat behind his desk, with Rodan, conspicuously armed and in the dark tunic of the Praetorian Guard, smirking over his shoulder.

Valerius stared at the two men. On the face of it he’d been called to the Palatine to explain his lack of progress, but he suspected there was another motive. ‘In an inquiry of this nature lack of zeal cannot be equated with lack of progress,’ he pointed out. ‘As I’m sure you are aware, prefect, it is a question of ensuring all the pieces are in place before you make your decisive move.’

Torquatus was unimpressed. ‘The future of the Empire is no game, Verrens,’ he snapped. ‘Perhaps the Emperor did not impress upon you enough the seriousness of your commission. It would take but a stroke of the stylus and you would be no more Hero of Rome.’

Valerius allowed himself a laugh. If Nero had wanted to get rid of him he wouldn’t be standing in front of Torquatus’s desk, he would be having a much more painful conversation in the torture chambers which existed somewhere beneath the hill. That thought reinforced his decision to keep what he’d discovered about Lucina Graecina and Cornelius Sulla to himself. There were things he needed to know before he handed them over to Torquatus’s tender mercies. He stared directly at Rodan.

‘I’m told you’ve been searching for Petrus for six months without any success. Is that why the Emperor asked for me? I’m sure your zeal cannot be questioned, prefect, but perhaps the competence of your investigators …’

Rodan let out a low growl, an attack dog confronted by a rival. Torquatus’s lips compressed into a thin smile. ‘So that is what you and Seneca talked of. I was curious. My spies in his household had grown careless. They have now been replaced. A word of warning. Do not put your faith in a man whose time has passed, Gaius Valerius Verrens. Seneca will be too busy saving himself to worry about you. However …’ His voice changed and it was like hearing a snake speak, sibilant and seductive, but with the fangs barely concealed. ‘If you were to give your undivided loyalty to a man whose time has come, you would not find him ungrateful. Do not look so surprised, young man. I am not blind. I have recognized your talents just as the Emperor has, but, like him, I require proof of your devotion.’

‘What proof?’

‘The followers of Christus are not the only threat to the Emperor. You are popular in the courts. People tell you things. Perhaps they are occasionally indiscreet?’

‘You want me to spy on my friends?’ Valerius struggled to keep a dangerous edge from his voice. ‘And what would be the reward for this service, apart, of course, from your gratitude?’

Torquatus smiled. ‘We talked of a legion, did we not? A single word from me to your Emperor would win Gaius Valerius Verrens the scarlet cloak of a legate. A year, perhaps eighteen months; a successful command in some profitable but not too arduous theatre of war. Then a place in the Senate. Why not? It is your birthright. You would have your seat before you were thirty and, with good fortune and the right friends, your consulship when you come of age for it.’

Valerius relaxed and returned the smile. Torquatus offered him everything his father had ever dreamed of, and more. The consulship? It was almost laughable. The only thing he hadn’t placed on the table was a promise to restore his right arm. How like this man to overplay his hand. If the offer had been genuine, a legionary command would have been bribe enough.

‘You are too generous,’ he said, hoping Torquatus was as immune to irony as he was to subtlety. ‘I will do what I can, but finding the Judaean is my first priority. I hope you won’t have cause to question my zeal again.’ He turned to leave.

A word from Torquatus stopped him. ‘Valerius?’

‘Yes.’

‘You are right not to be distracted from your investigation. The others can wait – for now. The Emperor is becoming impatient and my offer means nothing without progress in this matter of Petrus. I urge you not to take too much upon yourself. You may call on Rodan for what support you require. He has already begun to bring together evidence that may assist you.’

‘Evidence? What kind of evidence?’

Torquatus’s tone was almost kindly, but it sent a knife point running down Valerius’s spine. ‘Perhaps you should ask your father.’

Ask your father
. Valerius left the palace with the words still ringing in his ears. Torquatus was trying to keep him off balance, he understood that, but was there anything more? Politically, Lucius, despite painful experience, was still a babe in arms. His friendship and position as client to Seneca also made him vulnerable. The message was a threat, but how great a threat? Olivia, Petrus and now his father. How many more burdens must he carry?

He almost missed Felix among the crowd loitering on the steps of the Temple of Jupiter Stator. The Spaniard nodded to indicate that he was still being followed. As Valerius walked back towards the Clivus Scauri he struggled to work out his priorities. He had to find a way to reach Petrus. The boy had predicted that if Valerius sought the Judaean, Petrus would eventually come to him, but he couldn’t depend on that. He had two sources of leverage. Lucina and Cornelius Sulla. It was a question of who was most likely to provide the information he needed. And that was really no question at all.

* * *

The brothel stood at a crossroads in the valley between the Caelian and Esquiline hills. It was one of Rome’s more superior establishments, with a pair of muscular watchmen at the door to ensure that the social status of the customers matched the aspirations of its owner. The three men stood on the opposite side of the street. ‘He’s been in there for more than an hour. I don’t know where these young fellows get the strength,’ Marcus grumbled. Serpentius muttered something from the darkness that made the old gladiator laugh. ‘Oh, there’s always money for a good shag, Snake. And this Cornelius is obviously prepared to pay for the best.’

Valerius laughed with them, but he wondered why Cornelius Sulla, who had free access in Nero’s palace to the greatest and most degenerate brothel in Rome, had need to visit somewhere like this. True, it was of the better class, but with a word in the Emperor’s ear Cornelius could have any handsome boy, beautiful slave girl or even senator’s wife who took his fancy. The doorkeepers studied the three men suspiciously and Valerius could hardly blame them. Streets around brothels tended to be haunted by robbers and he still wore the cloak and hood he’d used to evade Torquatus’s followers. It had been deceptively simple. Serpentius had accused one of the watchers of attempting to steal his purse and as the others were drawn into the brawl, Valerius had slipped away to join Marcus.

When he wasn’t busy fawning over the Emperor, Cornelius spent a puzzling amount of time at the brothel, and it had been no surprise when he turned up this evening. Valerius sweated copiously beneath the heavy wool of his cloak, but he dared not remove it for fear of alerting his quarry. For once the rich smell of cooking overwhelmed the usual rancid street scents and his stomach warned him he hadn’t eaten since dawn. The smell came from a nearby bar where a few regulars had gathered to drink the sour wine and complain about their wives. The shouted conversations reminded him that he had only one more year of respectable bachelorhood left. But who would want a one-armed cripple? Strange that Fabia’s face should enter his mind. She would have begun her career in a place like this, and only a potent mix of beauty, intelligence and charm had won her way out. She was now more mistress than courtesan, although mistress to a dozen men who paid for the privilege. Most of these women would end their career on the streets, used up, ill-treated and available for the price of a cup of wine.

Could he marry Fabia? He smiled at the absurdity of the thought. In any case, a man didn’t marry for love, he married for wealth or patronage. He wondered what she would say if she knew he had linked her name with the word love. Would it draw some saw-toothed jibe, or …

‘He’s here,’ Marcus hissed.

Valerius looked from under the hood to where Cornelius Sulla loitered by the door of the brothel, his golden hair shining in the lamplight. The aristocrat held a girl in his arms. Dark-haired, she was blessed with heavy-lipped, sensuous features and breasts that spilled from the front of her dress. Valerius watched as Cornelius attempted to cover her up in a way that was almost brotherly. The girl playfully knocked his hands away and bared herself all the more, dusky nipples peeping from the folds of material. There was nothing brotherly in the way they kissed, long and passionate, their hands searching each other, until they parted breathless, Cornelius grinning inanely.

‘Silly bastard’s in love with a tart,’ Marcus muttered. ‘Who would have believed it?’

Eventually, someone called the girl inside and Cornelius was joined by two men who had been hidden in the shadows. One, burly and muscle-bound, with a rolling walk that hinted at more time spent on a horse than on foot, glared towards Valerius and whispered something to the young knight. Cornelius threw them a dismissive glance and shook his head. Valerius gave the three men time to move off before he followed, keeping pace a few yards behind. He knew they were aware of his presence, but that was how he wanted it. After about a hundred paces they stopped and the two bodyguards drew a pair of lethal-looking cudgels and moved protectively in front of the younger man. Valerius allowed his hood to fall back and Cornelius stiffened as he recognized his follower in the flickering torchlight.

‘What do you want?’ he demanded.

Valerius lifted the seal on its gold chain so all three could see it. ‘This is imperial business.’ He directed the words at the senior of the two guards. ‘Your master will be safe with me. Walk on for twenty paces and he will join you in a few moments.’

The men looked at each other, then to Cornelius, who stared at the seal as if hypnotized.

‘Twenty paces,’ Valerius repeated. ‘In the Emperor’s name.’

Cornelius nodded. One guard’s jaw came up as if he was about to argue, but the second man pulled his sleeve and they walked reluctantly away. When they were alone, Valerius directed Cornelius towards the shadows at the side of the street, but the younger man shrugged off his hand and glared furiously at him. Valerius decided he’d seen friendlier cobras.

‘What do you want?’ Cornelius demanded again. His eyes betrayed no concern because he was Nero’s favourite and he intended to make Valerius pay for this insult. For his part, Valerius stared into the handsome face and knew the boy’s arrogance made any attempt at compromise pointless.

‘Two days ago, you met in secret with the lady Lucina Graecina …’

‘You lie,’ Cornelius hissed, but Valerius ignored him.

‘… in the Horti Sallustiani. The lady was unaccompanied. You were unaccompanied. The lady reached the gardens first and waited fifteen minutes for your arrival. You spoke with the lady for approximately two minutes before leaving by the same concealed door by which you entered.’ Cornelius’s face shone like a pale orb in the torchlight. His flesh took on the look of aged parchment and fear replaced the anger in his eyes. ‘I want to know the reason for the meeting and what was said.’ Valerius raised his left hand with the imperial seal. ‘In the Emperor’s name.’

‘I … It’s not true.’

‘The mother of a man the Emperor ordered killed meets in secret with a member of the Emperor’s court?’

‘She …’

‘She may survive, because she is Lucina Graecina, but what will happen to the Emperor’s favourite, Cornelius Sulla? Nero is not known for his mercy, or his forgiveness. A single word from me, Cornelius, and you will be a dead man. Why did you meet her?’

‘I cannot tell. Do what you must.’ The boy’s voice shook, but his tone betrayed a defiance that made Valerius almost like him. He wished there could be another way.

‘Whether it is true or not, he will believe you betrayed him. Have you seen a traitor die, Cornelius? Citizenship will not save you. No merciful opening of the veins for you. It will be the cross or the fire. A slow death and a painful one. Could you bear it?’

‘I cannot tell … please!’ A tear ran across the fine down of his cheek.

‘What was said?’ Valerius kept his voice hard.

Cornelius bit his lips as if it was the only way he could stay silent.

‘You may be willing to die, Cornelius, but is she?’ The boy’s eyes flashed white as he realized ‘she’ didn’t mean Lucina. ‘They will make you watch her die. They will remove her beauty a little at a time for your pain and Nero’s pleasure. Do not make me do it, Cornelius. Tell me and you will both live. On my honour.’

XVII

LUCINA GRAECINA WAITED
alone in the centre of the garden. Where was he?

She hated unpunctuality. Bad enough that she must wait until he was certain they were alone, but to be kept here for … She took a deep breath and willed herself to be calm. What was it Petrus had said? ‘Impatience is like anger. Any negative emotion impairs our ability to do God’s work.’

She smiled, and the narrow, pinched face was transformed. They were doing God’s work. She looked towards the trees growing a few feet from the garden walls and the flowers in their beds beside the beaten earth of the path. Every colour and every shape unique. All God’s work.

Another ten minutes passed and she retained her inner harmony apart from a single glance at the corner from where she knew he would come. She had been dying until they found her – or had she found them? – shrivelling inside like the desiccated occupant of a hundred-year-old tomb, her mind devoured by rage and thoughts and images of revenge against that man: the man who had defiled and then destroyed her son. Five years locked away in the self-sought oblivion of mourning and never a moment’s joy. Then she had met
him
, and he had reopened her eyes to life.

‘Lady?’

The wrong voice. She whirled, and speared the intruder with needle-tipped darts of contempt. ‘This is a private garden. Please leave at once.’ She turned away, her back reinforcing the message of her eyes, but her heart thundered so she wondered it did not break free from her breast. What could have happened? The secret way was known only to a few, not to this well-set young man with the stern features.

‘Cornelius is not coming. He was to bring me, but he has disappeared, along with the girl.’

She felt her heart flutter. Girl? What girl? She must not faint. She put all her strength into her voice. ‘I know of no Cornelius. I will not ask you to leave again.’

‘Perhaps you would like to call your servants. I’m sure they would be interested in what I have to say.’

‘More interested than I,’ she huffed, and turned for the gate.

‘I don’t want you. I wish to talk to Petrus,’ Valerius persisted.

Almost without realizing it she halted. ‘More names. More mysteries.’

‘You are familiar with mysteries, I understand, my lady Lucina.’

‘But not with riddles, young man. You waste my time and yours.’

He shook his head. ‘You are a follower of the Judaean mystic called Christus. You have taken part in rituals conducted by the man I seek. You keep certain religious objects in your home, which I will find if I use this authority to enter it.’ He held up the seal and she caught the glint of gold in the corner of her eye, enough to make a guess at its identity. ‘All this I had from Cornelius, along with the fact that he had lost contact with Petrus and today you were to reveal where he could reach him.’

She turned and her eyes narrowed dangerously, a she-cat cornered by hounds. ‘If you have harmed him you will be damned for all eternity, as will your master.’

Valerius allowed himself a smile. ‘So, you admit your complicity, if not your guilt. You mistake me, lady. I will keep Cornelius from harm if I can find him, and I admit to no master but myself.’

‘You have his seal and you carry his stink. I freely admit both my complicity and my guilt. Death holds no fears for me, young man, whatever horrors the act of dying comprises. I will go to the afterlife willingly in the knowledge that I shall be content for all eternity in the company of those I love. Do what you will.’

She walked away and he couldn’t help admiring her. She had fought him to a standstill and when he had placed the point of his sword at her breast she had disarmed him as easily as if he had been a child. But he had one more question. ‘What does MCVII mean?’

She stopped abruptly and turned to face him. Her eyes settled on the artificial wooden hand. ‘What is your name, young man?’

‘I am Gaius Valerius Verrens.’

‘Then you must ask your father.’

Valerius spent the night tormented by irrational fears and tortured by dreams of wild beasts closing in from the darkness. He woke dry-mouthed and with an unaccustomed feeling of helplessness. When he set off for Fidenae, he left Marcus with instructions to concentrate on the hunt for Cornelius Sulla. Cornelius had taken the girl from the brothel and vanished the morning after Valerius had questioned him. They’d searched his usual haunts without success and unless he had hidden away on the Palatine, where Marcus and his men could not go, it seemed that he had either taken refuge among the alleys of the Subura or left Rome altogether.

But Valerius had concerns of his own. He rode out of the city before dawn taking what precautions he could, though he knew there was no guarantee that he’d lost Rodan’s watchers. His mind was bowstring tight.
Ask your father
. The same loaded suggestion from two entirely different and equally dangerous sources. What did his father know about the Christus cult and plots against Caesar? Lucius had never been politically astute, but he was no fool either. Apart from two or three letters which had probably never reached the Emperor, there was little likelihood that Nero even knew his name. But Torquatus did and it seemed Torquatus would use any lever to increase his hold on Valerius.
Ask your father
. He felt dread hovering over him like a thundercloud.

He left the road a mile short of the gate, ensuring no hidden watcher would announce his arrival today. His horse plotted its own way through the familiar hills until they met the track leading from the gateway to the house. Everything seemed normal, but his mind sharpened with every clatter of the animal’s hooves.

When the villa came into view he reined in beside a clump of black poplars and sat for more than a minute, watching and listening. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then why did he have this overwhelming sense of danger? Dismounting, he led his horse into the nearest barn and tied it next to a pair of matched roans superior to anything his father had ever owned. Beside them stood an elaborately painted four-wheeled coach. His suspicions growing, he walked out into the sunshine and across the courtyard. The door was closed, but not barred, and he entered silently, immediately experiencing the intimacy of surroundings he’d known since childhood. Each tessera of the mosaic floor was as familiar as when he’d crawled across it as a child. He was approaching the interior garden with its open roof and whitewashed columns when he heard the raised voices.

Three men lay on couches around a stone table beside the central pool, with his father furthest away facing the doorway. Despite his relaxed pose, Lucius gave the impression of being a reluctant member of the group. He lay with his body pushed back as far as the couch would allow and with his cup clutched defensively to his chest. His eyes darted between his two guests like a dog wondering which was going to hit him first. The man to his right could have been the villa’s owner as he casually picked at grapes from the table. He had dark hair that curled back from a wide brow and a neatly trimmed spade beard. Deep-set, obsidian eyes seemed to focus upon something interesting in the middle distance. The third man had his back to Valerius, but his bulk and his posture made him unmistakable. Seneca.

The dark man turned to Lucius with a tight smile. ‘It seems we have a new guest.’

Lucius looked up and his face froze when he recognized Valerius.

Seneca didn’t even turn his head. ‘Welcome, my boy. Two visits within two weeks? Your filial devotion surprises even me. Come, we are just going.’ He raised himself from the couch with surprising ease for such a big man and turned with a smile, as if he found the unwanted intrusion amusing. ‘A social call to discuss matters of mutual interest among neighbours,’ he explained. ‘May I introduce my business acquaintance, Saul of Tarsus.’

The bearded man’s eyes flicked a warning to Seneca, but the philosopher waved a languid hand.

‘We are among friends here.’ He looked to Valerius for confirmation. ‘Discreet friends. Your work goes well?’ The question was heavy with emphasis, but the young Roman decided to treat it as a social enquiry.

‘Life in Rome is always interesting, as you know, master Seneca.’

Seneca laughed. ‘A good answer. I taught you well, Valerius.’ He turned to Lucius. ‘I bid you good day. You will bear in mind what we discussed?’ Lucius bowed.

Saul of Tarsus approached Valerius. He was an inch or two shorter than the Roman and older than he first appeared. Something about him stirred a memory. ‘Your father speaks well of you, young man. I wish you success in your every endeavour.’

Valerius nodded his thanks, but, when the two guests had left, the impression he had of Saul was of a prison pallor and an unmistakable prison scent. In the silence that followed he realized that the traditional father-son roles had become reversed. Lucius stared from the window refusing to meet his eyes, and Valerius felt a growing certainty that the older man had somehow placed them all at risk. What games was he playing that had come to Torquatus’s notice? Where was the link between these men and Lucina? He tried to keep his voice steady but the words emerged rough-edged as a saw blade. ‘You warned me only a few days ago that I should be wary of Seneca. Why should I take your advice when you clearly cannot?’

On another day his father would have snapped a rebuke, but now he only waved a weary hand. ‘If a neighbour visits me am I to turn him from my door?’

‘Seneca does not make social visits. Who was the man with him?’

‘Saul of Tarsus is a friend of Seneca’s brother. A good man, and a Roman citizen despite his birth.’

‘A good man does not carry the stink of the jail on him.’

Lucius looked up sharply. ‘Yes, he has been in prison for his beliefs, but he was spared to carry on his work.’

Valerius’s heart sank at the way Lucius pronounced the word ‘beliefs’. ‘What are you doing to us?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t you understand that you are putting Olivia in danger? Is it not enough that you refuse to help her, but you must drag her with you to the executioner?’

‘I have done nothing. I—’

‘Nothing? Two days ago the Emperor’s Praetorian prefect advised me to ask my father if I wanted to know how to get close to a man Nero wants to see dead. Yesterday, a woman who condemned herself by her own words said the same thing. Since then I have been asking myself what it could mean. Now I understand.’ Lucius shook his head soundlessly. Valerius made no attempt to keep the frustration from his voice. ‘I have been ordered by the Emperor to seek out the leader of a religious sect accused of spreading sedition in Rome. They worship a criminal named Christus, who died on a cross thirty years ago. A madman who believed he was the son of a god and could work miracles. But you are already aware of that, because you worship him too.’

‘You know nothing of what you speak.’ Lucius’s tone recovered some of its authority. ‘I am still the head of this family. Leave my house now.’

‘What does MCVII mean?’

‘Go!’

Valerius shook his head. ‘Tell me where to find Petrus, Father. Tell me where they meet.’

‘Get out, please.’

‘For Olivia, if not for me.’

‘Please, Valerius, leave me.’ Lucius slumped on the furthest couch. ‘I can tell you nothing.’

Valerius was suddenly overwhelmed by the same helplessness he felt when he sat by Olivia’s bed. He would learn nothing more here. He made for the door. ‘You are a good man, Father, but you do not understand the danger you are in. Take your own advice. Beware Seneca – and this man Saul.’

It wasn’t until he reached the barn that he realized they were both caught in the same net.

He struggled to marshal his thoughts. How had the world become this blur of contradictions? It seemed impossible, yet deep in his heart he had known it since Lucina spoke those three fateful words in the garden. Lucius, an intelligent man and a good Roman, had become a Christus-follower.
He believed
. Believed in a man who claimed to have walked upon water. A crazed Judaean rebel who thought he was the son of a god; a god who must be worshipped exclusively and all other gods abandoned. Valerius remembered the comforting family routine of daily libations to the kitchen god, the coin for the god of the crossroads when Olivia married, sacrifices to Jupiter and Minerva, Bacchus and Mars, on the appropriate days for the appropriate purposes. Good harvests, good health, sweet wine and sweet victory. A Roman should be surrounded by gods. How could his father have changed so much?

‘You must not judge him too harshly.’ The soft voice came from above and behind him. Ruth sat like a serious-faced meadow sprite on a hillock of grass overlooking the road. To his surprise, he found he was glad to see her, but he wondered how she had known to be there.

‘You have not had time to water your horse.’ She rose to her feet and skipped down to a path that led through the trees. ‘Come, I will show you a place.’

He hesitated, puzzled at the change from their previous encounter, but she smiled and he followed her, out of curiosity and for other reasons he would have found difficult to explain. The path was one he had used many times as a boy and he knew where it led. She slowed to allow him to walk at her side.

‘He was lost, but now he is found,’ she said cryptically.

‘I don’t understand,’ he replied, knowing as he said it that it wasn’t quite true. He found her presence disturbing; it provoked a kind of asthmatic breathlessness he hadn’t experienced for a long time. She wore the same blue dress as the day in the olive grove. It was loose and unflattering, but the generous curves that lay beneath made themselves known in various subtle ways. She really was quite beautiful. Smaller than Valerius by a head, but lithe and athletic, her dark hair hanging long to her waist. Ruth’s skin glowed the colour of golden cinnamon and when she smiled her nose wrinkled like a little girl’s. The next words she spoke were an admission of treason, but she spoke them without fear in a way that made her very naive, very trusting or very brave.

‘There is but one God, and Jesus is his son,’ she said with simple faith. ‘When I came here Lucius had nothing. No family. No friends. No love. He was empty. We talked of our fears and I told him about my God, who is a loving God, and how I was never alone, because I believed.’